I turn back around and find both my dad and Alexander staring at me. Ivanov is giving me a good for you, son wink, but my father’s gaze is suspicious with a healthy dose of jealousy. It’s odd seeing this man be anything but cold and robotic. He’s been so closed off my entire life, yet lately, he’s practically hemorrhaging emotion. It’s fascinating how Jazz’s arrival has lifted the veil we all worked hard to maintain over the years. Charles, Madeline, Peyton, my dad, Bentley, me—no one’s immune. Jazz just has that effect on you. Fighting it is futile.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to speak with a few more people before I need to leave.” My eyes flick to Alexander. “I’ll get back to you about the party as soon as possible.”
He nods. “Please do. If it helps convince your lady friend, your sister will be there.”
That gives me pause. “Why’s that?”
The question was directed at Ivanov, but my dad answers instead. “Alexander’s good friend is the dean of the Los Angeles School of Performing Arts. Alex was kind enough to arrange an introduction. I know your sister has her heart set on Juilliard, but it doesn’t hurt to have other options, especially one so close to home.”
Fuck. Now I have to go, regardless. There’s no way in hell I’m leaving Ainsley exposed like that. Who the hell knows what the guest list will look like?
I take a deep breath, reminding myself to stay calm. “We’ll talk soon. It was nice seeing you.”
On a mission to get to Jazz, I cross the room, but I’m stopped about halfway there when a thirty-something dark-haired man steps in my path.
“Mr. Davenport.”
I try to place this guy, but I’m coming up empty. “Do I know you?”
He shakes his head. “No, but we have a friend in common.” The man reaches into the breast pocket of his tuxedo jacket and produces a business card.
Rafe Garcia, Financial Analyst
“Oh, yeah? And who’s that?”
“John Peterson.”
My eyes instinctively scan the room, looking for anyone who might be listening to this conversation. What is this guy playing at? Did my dad somehow find out about John? Did he hire this guy to get information out of me?
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I know anyone named John Peterson.”
Rafe smiles softly. “I understand your hesitancy. I wanted to introduce myself so you could put a face to a name. The number on that card leads to an untraceable cell. Talk to John; he’ll vouch for me. Afterward, give me a call, and we’ll arrange a time to meet.”
I don’t like being caught off guard like this one bit. Tucking the card into my jacket pocket, I say, “Like I said, Mr. Garcia, I don’t know anyone named John Peterson. If you’ll excuse me, I was on my way to speak with someone. Enjoy your evening.”
He nods. “You as well.”
I reach Jazz and Charles right as a senator and his wife are walking away. “Charles, do you mind if I steal my girlfriend away?”
He looks irritated, but he’s not going to make a scene. “Of course not. You kids have fun.”
I wait until we’re out of earshot before speaking. “You ready to get out of here?”
“So ready.”
Neither one of us says a word until we’re inside my car, away from any prying ears. I didn’t get to speak with nearly enough people tonight, but my instincts were screaming at me to get Jazz away from my dad. He’s in a mood, and my gut has never led me astray before, so I wasn’t about to ignore it now. Besides, since attending Ivanov’s party is no longer optional, I’m confident I’ll have another chance. He and my father have multiple friends or business associates in common.
Jazz sighs as she buckles her seat belt. “I swear, if I had to meet one more congressman, or judge, or whatever, I was going to scream. You should’ve heard some of the sickeningly sweet things my sperm donor said about me. He had them all eating out of his hand.”
“I’m sure. To Charles, it’s all about the show and how many people he can stuff in his pocket.”
“Ugh. I don’t know how someone lives their life being so fake. They all had the same shiny veneer.”
I shrug. “When you grow up in a world where material possessions or power determine your worth, you get used to performing. It’s all most of us have ever known.”
“Well, if you ask me, that’s a shitty way to live. I don’t know how anyone could do that long term. I could barely handle it for what? Half an hour, maybe? I had to physically bite my tongue as Charles paraded me around like a goddamn trophy. Every time he touched me for whatever reason, even though it was only my shoulder or arm, I was fighting the urge to recoil or cuss him out. I couldn’t stop wondering about my mom. If she ever had to work a crowd like that and how she handled it. Or if she ever looked at me growing up and was reminded of him somehow.”
“I highly doubt anything about you reminded your mom of him.”
“Yeah, but you don’t know that for sure,” Jazz challenges. “He’s half the reason I exist, and considering what you suspect about how I came into this world, how could she never look at me and be reminded of that time in her life?”
She has a point, but I’m not about to let her think she shares any traits with that man. I’ve known Charles Callahan my entire life, and he and Jazz couldn’t be more opposite.
“Well, I made it out of there without throwing any punches, so I think we should consider the evening a win. I’ve no doubt my dad would’ve somehow used a distraction like that to his advantage, which was the main thing holding me back.”
“The fact that I didn’t throw any punches in Peyton’s direction after all the snide comments she made makes this evening a win.”
I laugh. “But it would’ve been fun seeing the look on Peyton’s face if you did.”
Jazz’s full lips curve. “Yes. Yes, it would have.” After a moment of silence, her smile morphs into a frown. “There is an end in sight, isn’t there? We won’t always be chasing monsters, right?”
I grab her hand over the console and press my lips to her knuckles. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
CHAPTER FOUR
JAZZ
“What about this one?” Ainsley holds a red lacy bra in front of her. “It’s hot, right?”
“It is,” I agree, thumbing the price tag. “But are you really going to spend four hundred dollars on a bra?”
She holds the lace to her chest, looking at herself in the gilded mirror. “Why wouldn’t I?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Because you could probably get almost the exact same thing at Victoria’s Secret for ten percent of that?”
Or Walmart for about three percent of the cost, but I leave that thought to myself.
Her delicate chestnut brows furrow. “But... this is La Perla. Handcrafted Italian lingerie. And it’s a Black Friday deal, so it’s really only like three-hundred and twenty.”
I love Ainsley to death, but she really has lived a sheltered life when it comes to things like money. I legit almost turned around and walked out the door as soon as I saw the first price tag in this store. I mean, we’re in Beverly Hills—on Rodeo, no less—so I knew stuff would be well out of my pay grade, but I had no idea the designer markup was this ridiculous. It makes me a little sick knowing my own dresser is filled with equally expensive lingerie, no doubt, thanks to Madeline. That scrap of lace in Ainsley’s hands could be almost a month’s worth of groceries for some families.